Making Up Time
by nightlight's fire
Summary: Beckett hasn't celebrated Christmas in ten years. For Castle, that's too long. A little cheer there, a little humour here, and maybe even some love. COMPLETE
1. 1: Why

**Scarred Heart  
>presents:<strong>

**Making Up Time**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I don't own Castle, any characters and or storylines involved in Castle, or ABC. If I did, I'd find a way to beat the Moonlighting curse.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Beckett hasn't celebrated Christmas in ten years. For Castle, that's too long. A little cheer there, a little humour here, and maybe even some love.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Why<strong>

Castle knows that he and Lanie aren't the closest of friends. The only see each other at the precinct, or at parties he throws for his 'Gotham City' crew. Which perfectly explains why he was confused when he got a text from her early this morning.

'_Come down to the morgue, writer-boy. We need to talk.'_ That's what it had said. Still, as he rides the elevator down, his mind is racing through wild possibilities about what she wanted to talk about. He'd guessed it would be about Beckett about a minute after getting the text. Maybe even less. He couldn't remember, exactly. It was _very_ early in the morning. And Christmas _was_ coming. So. Beckett and Christmas was the only logical conclusion.

He stands there. He's not quite sure why. Probably waiting for a summons from inside. It doesn't come. He waits a minute. He had thought about not coming, for a brief moment. It was one of those moments that was actually a moment long. Not coming was never an option. A chance to peel the Beckett onion was one he couldn't pass up.

"Just going to stand there, Castle?" Lanie calls from inside. "Normally you'd be in here playing with the light."

Castle chuckles, and walks in. The ME isn't working on a body, for which he is thankful. Castle wouldn't be able to see a body being autopsied this early in the morning. Not on a full stomach.

"How'd you know I was there?" he asks. Lanie smirks.

"When will you boys learn that I know everything?" she retorts, as if she is the premier authority on knowledge.

"Modest too. I'm sure your hearing is excellent as well," he replies. Lanie cracks a grin, and Castle relaxes slightly. "So why the summons? I'm guessing it's not about the case."

"It ain't. It's about Beckett. And Christmas," she replies. Score. Two for two. He's still got it.

"What about Kate and Christmas?" he asks. Lanie's raised eyebrow tells him she noticed the first name. He tilted his head.

"It's got something to do with her mother, doesn't it?" he asks, breaking the strange form of communication they were practicing.

"Yeah. If I tell you this, you won't tell her I told you, will you?" she asks, implication heavy in her tone. Castle doesn't gulp, because gulping is too cliché for a writer of his calibre. But he wants too. He really does.

"Kate isn't big on Christmas celebrations. Hasn't been for just over ten years," Lanie says. Castle is tempted to interrupt with questions and assumptions. Ten years was significant, after all.

"It's partly because her mom died in the same week as Christmas Day," Lanie continues.

Castle knows. He's read the file. Probably more times than anyone. Anyone but Kate. He knows all the facts. Back to front, all of them. He can list how many stab wounds there were, he can recite most of the timeline. Every last snippet of important information in that much-read, coffee stained, light brown file is somewhere in his head.

Christmas was coming. For him, that means childish Advent calendars for his daughter, and Christmas decorations that are decidedly not ignorable. But for Kate… Oh god. For Kate it is a reminder.

"But it's also partly because she couldn't celebrate Christmas with her family for a long time. And Christmas is a family affair for Kate," Lanie says.

Castle understands. He knows that part of her history as well. Enough time spent over take-out on late nights had often led to conversations about their pasts. What's the point of Christmas if you don't have somebody comfortable to spend it with?

"It's long past time she started celebrating again, isn't it?" Castle asks. Lanie smirks. She knew she'd made the right decision in asking Castle to help solve this particular problem.

_Kate isn't gonna know what hit her_, Lanie thinks as the writer leaves her morgue with ideas already dancing in his mind.

* * *

><p>It's been a week since that day. Since that conversation. Since Castle took it upon himself to spread some Christmas cheer. He hasn't been able to touch the topic with Kate. She is tight lipped about it. So, Castle thinks of something different. Which is why he's out in the suburbs, about to knock on a blue door.<p>

"Rick! I'm surprised to see you here," the older man says as he answers the door.

"Hello, Mr Beckett," Castle replies.

"Please, it's Jim," he replies, and they shake hands. A little stronger than Castle's normal handshake.

Five minutes later they're seated in Jim's living room, both with a cup of coffee in their hands. The writer is shifting nervously in his seat every other second, and the father is calmly watching him.

"I'm here about Christmas," Rick says eventually, breaking the silence. Jim exhales, looks down at the floor. When he looks up, his eyes are haunted.

"It's hard for Katie. Christmas… it was something she did with her mother. So much. It was a family thing for us. And the Johanna died… I don't know if you this, Rick, but I didn't… I wasn't in much of a state to look after Katie. Much less to celebrate Christmas," Jim explains. It is not just his eyes that are haunted. His voice isn't very strong. Or calm.

"I know," Castle replies softly. There is no judgement. "I want to bring some cheer back to Christmas. For Kate. And for you."

Jim looks directly at him, his eyes slightly wider than before. They settle and take on an apprehensive look.

"I just… it's Christmas. She shouldn't be working. Just because murder never rests doesn't mean she can't," Rick says. His voice isn't particularly strong either. It never is, when he is talking about Kate's pain.

"You're right. But I'm not sure you can just put the cheer back in Christmas for her," Jim replies. Castle gives a small smirk.

"I'll think of something, don't worry. But I had an idea. Even if I can't get her to celebrate the coming of Christmas time….

"What'd you have in mind?"

* * *

><p>"Who's the gift for?" Alexis asks, startling him. He is sitting on one of the high chairs, wrapping a gift in highly multi-coloured gift-wrapping. He thinks that it has every colour of the rainbow.<p>

"Guess," Castle replies, not looking away from his task. Gift-wrapping requires his full concentration.

"Beckett," Alexis replies instantly. He looks up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Good guess," he says simply, before looking back down. Alexis sits down opposite him, playing with a letter that was lying on the table. She doesn't open it, merely twirls it around on the smooth white of the table.

"Why are you sending Beckett a gift?" she asks, trying to keep any emotion from her face. Trying to seem blank.

"I'll be sending her a few, actually. Beckett isn't that big on Christmas," Castle replies. Alexis nods. The sentence explains everything, exactly as Castle intended.

"So you're trying to spread some cheer," she finishes. She knows how her father thinks. More importantly, she knows what he thinks about Christmas.

"Everyone should celebrate Christmas," he says, almost childishly. "It's _Christmas_."

Alexis grins. Her father had always been heavy on Christmas. Every year, with Advent calendars and somewhat ostentatious decorations. If you walked into the loft during Christmas time, you'd be hard pressed to find a room, closet excluded, that wasn't decorated.

"Is that the only reason you're trying to spread Christmas cheer?" she asks her father, mischievous. He looks up at her with a raised eyebrow again. This time, his gaze completely leaves the wrapping. He's finished anyway.

"And what does that mean?" he replies. Alexis smirks.

"Come on, Dad. I know that you aren't just trying to spread Christmas. That's not all this is. This is _Kate_ we're talking about," Alexis says, her tone loaded. Castle lets out a breath.

"You're right," he admits after a moment of silence. "It's more than just cheer."

She smirks again. Of course she's right.

"Wanna go into a bit more detail there, vague one?" she asks. She knows she's poking at him. She's curious though. She knows that her father feels something for the good detective. She wants to know how deep these feelings run.

"I… I can't bear watching her wade through unhappy memories," Castle says. His voice is soft. Not soft, quiet soft. Soft, gentle soft. It's weak. Not all quiet and meagre. Just weak, like it could break at any moment when talking about this.

"So you're going to help her make new memories," Alexis surmises. Castle nods slowly. "There's more, isn't there? There's something you aren't telling me. You said you were happy with what you had with Kate."

Her voice trails off slightly at the end. He can read the question between the words and her tone. There is a pregnant pause. Castle alternates between looking speculatively at his daughter and out the far window, at the rain coming down from the sky.

"I love her," he whispers finally. The words are so quiet and yet, Alexis hears them perfectly. She expected her father to use his wordsmith skills, to say as much without saying those three words. That he couldn't, or wouldn't, was big on its own.

"That's… that's something," she replies. He nods. He knows. He's been carrying around.

"You're good with words, Dad. But I think you might have a chance to show her. Really show her. It _is_ Christmas time, after all," Alexis says, smiling.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>**AN:**

****The usual. Review, if you can. I appreciate all comments, from writing tips, to plot errors, to typos. The lot. If you want to tell me you hate it, please tell me why as well.


	2. 2: How

**Scarred Heart  
>presents<strong>

_Making Up Time_

**Chapter 2: How**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I really don't own ABC or Castle. Trust me. If I did, I'd be trying to break the _Moonlighting_ curse.

* * *

><p>Morning coffee. That is what she craves. And a bear claw. That would be good too. The delivery mechanism is important, though. He knows just how she likes it. He finds just the right places. For the coffee. That was definitely all about coffee. Not anything else. Nothing out of her dreams, anyway.<p>

Wait, what? Where had that come from? Dreams? Since when had she admitted anything about her dreams to the conscious world? There it is again. Her dreams definitely have nothing to do with him. So where is this ridiculous implication that they _are_ coming from?

_The heart wants what the heart wants_, his voice echoes. What _does_ her heart want? It's a good question. It's a question she really should answer. Life, or risk?

Stupid therapy sessions. They are obviously the culprit. She never though this way before they came along. Before _he_ came along. Like a teenager in love.

Her paperwork is easy. There isn't much interference this early in the morning. Cold winter days offered little incentive for early birds. Nobody wants to come to work when it's still dark. The coffee cup settling down on her table is a surprise.

"What are you doing here, Castle?" she asks. He raised an eyebrow, as she finishes a report with a flurry and a signature.

"Figured you'd need a caffeine hit. We both know you can't take care of yourself," he smirks. She looks up at him with narrowed eyes. She glances at the coffee, which is letting out a little steam, then back at Castle. A Cheshire grin. The coffee is warm as it travels down her throat. Caffeinated goodness.

"And the bear claw?" she asks, offering her hand. He gives her the bag, still smirking.

"Wouldn't want to deprive you, Kate," he says. Kate raises and eyebrow. Castle seats himself on the chair, the one by her desk. _His_ chair.

She keeps at her paperwork, aptly dubbed 'The Mountain.' This time, it is definitely with interference. When Castle is not playing Angry Birds on his iPod, he's trying to start a conversation. And he's persistent. Very persistent.

When she comes back from her little break (her eyes were getting tired of reading reports and carpal tunnel seemed imminent), she sees it. The little grin thing. Standing neatly on her desk, is a very small Christmas tree. And leaning over it, putting a decoration on said tree, is Castle.

"Castle," she enunciates. He jumps, the decoration making a loud clank on the floor. "What the _hell_ is that?"

His grin is inhuman. "I'm sure you've seen a Christmas tree before, Kate."

With an agape mouth, she looks from the tiny tree to Castle, blinking owlishly.

"And why is it on my desk?"

"It's Christmas time, Kate," he replies, as if that one sentence explains everything. For him, it probably does. His grin hasn't abated. He is gently affixing the decoration to the tiny thing.

"You know I don't celebrate, right?" she asks. He's respected that lack of belief for two years.

"Everyone needs a little cheer Kate, no matter their pasts," he replies.

If she'd had a pen in her hand, she'd have dropped it. Her eyes are wide. It's an unspoken rule, that they never talk about their pasts. A rule that Castle just broke. Blatantly. He is right, though. Christmas and her past are linked. She likes to think that it was her hours, that being a Detective kept her from celebrating.

A lie. That was a lie.

"You want me to celebrate?" she asked. Dumbfounded would be the best way to describe her face. It is foreign. Celebration is foreign. Celebration at Christmas.

"I want you to come to the loft this Sunday for pre-Christmas waffles," he says. "But if you want to celebrate alone in your house without a tree…"

She arches an eyebrow at him. He hasn't moved since he sat down, but he is a writer. His boldness doesn't have to be shown with actions. His words can be just as good.

"What time?" she murmurs, pregnant pause over. She can see he's happy. He doesn't need to grin, or even to smile. His hand comes to rest on the back of hers, and she looks up from the mountain again. Their connection is warm. She doesn't want to admit it, but she likes it. This feeling. Warmth. Relaxation. She doesn't have a name for it. At least, her head doesn't have a name for it. Her heart is another story.

* * *

><p>Esposito is stunned. Stupefied. Shocked. Dumbfounded. There aren't enough synonyms to convey the level of his shock. It's Friday, true, but that doesn't excuse the happy mood. He had just been doing his normal rounds in the gym. In walks Beckett, smiling. Smiling. For one, even he didn't smile when he walked into the gym. And for another, Beckett never smiled when they had work. Never.<p>

So it is comprehensible that this event, this freak, out-of-the-blue event, is enough to stun him into wordlessness. Even as he looks back on this morning now, later in the day, he is still stunned. Since when did _Beckett_ whistle? She'd smiled before.

But in the nine years he'd known her, she'd never once whistled.

He needs a coffee. Castle is in the break room. Perfect.

* * *

><p>"So, Castle…" Espo begins. Castle turns to him, looking away from the expensive coffee machine.<p>

"Yeah?" he responds. Espo flicks the switch to turn the slightly less expensive coffee machine on. The one that makes the coffee that he likes. The slightly less expensive coffee.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything 'bout why Beckett was whistling this morning would you?" he asks bluntly. Castle is the wordsmith. He can make up fancy words that circle the point three hundred and a half times before actually getting to the point.

"Whistling? Really?" Castle replies. Course he'd noticed the happy-faced Beckett. He noticed Beckett. Period.

"Yeah. Going into the gym at six in the morning. And she's whistling. Know what it's about?" Espo asks.

Castle smirks. "I could guess."

Espo raises an eyebrow, and Castle shuts the door. Outside, Beckett rolls her eyes. Castle's sure of it.

"You did something. She's happy. That's great. I want to get the warning out of the way," Espo says. Castle blinks.

"Warning?" he asks. Espo chuckles.

"I'll put it real simple. She's happy. She'll stay happy. Grumpy Beckett makes my time with Lanie go bye-bye," Espo says. He knows Castle isn't five, but he just can't resist. The writer is always using his big words.

Said writer gulps. Sort of. It might have been a little exaggerated.

"Don't worry, Espo. I'll do everything I can to keep Beckett happy," he says sincerely. Espo looks at him carefully. Studies him.

"You really…" the detective leaves it trailing.

"I really."

* * *

><p>"You doing the shopping for Sunday, Mother?" Castle asks as Martha picks up her keys a little piece of paper.<p>

"I am. Anything extra?" she asks. Castle shuts his laptop. It'll hibernate. It's good like that.

"Buy a little more of everything," he tells her. Martha's eyebrows rise. The matriarch is still standing up in the kitchen.

"Do we have another guest, Richard?" she teased. Castle grins. His mother is an actress. She can see through an act.

"Yes, mother, we do," he replies. There was a proud undercurrent to his voice.

"Let me guess. Beckett," Martha says.

Castle chuckles. His mother had an eagle's eye.

"Yeah. Beckett's coming for Waffle Sunday," he replies. Martha leaves her keys and the notes on the kitchen table and comes to the leaving room.

"You convinced her? Bravo, Richard," she says. Martha had been around Kate enough times to know that if you could find something more stubborn than a mule, Kate would be more stubborn than it.

"It was surprisingly easy," Castle comments. It had been. She had just agreed.

"She's realising, you know. She knows how you feel, kiddo," Martha says, sitting. Castle sighs. He doesn't do that often.

"I wish I knew how she felt," Castle says. In that moment, Martha sees something in her son that she hasn't seen in a long time. It is almost hopelessness. But it's not quite. Desperate. That's the word.

"I'm not normally a betting woman, Richard, but I'll stake my wages on this. Before January 2nd, you'll know exactly how she feels," Martha says. It's the truth. She hasn't placed a bet in years.

"I just hope…" he leaves it trailing.

"That's love, kiddo. A whole load of hoping."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

The chapters are rather short at the moment, but they will become a little longer. It's because I'm really damn busy at the moment, and basically don't have much time to write long and well thought-out chapters. I'm just taking it as it comes for this story.

This is my first multi-chapter story on under this pen name, and my email has been flooded with story alerts and favorite story hits for Making Up Time. Truthfully, if you could all take the minute it takes to hit review and say good work, I'd appreciate it a great deal.

The scene with Martha isn't the best scene, right? That's what I thought, anyhow. But I wanted to keep it, partly because I wanted a new chapter and my idea pool is jarred because I'm running on caffeine, and partly because I love Martha as a character.

Hopefully, the people that hit story alert will drop me a review. I'll probably reply to all or at least, most of them.

_To love and life._


	3. 3: When

**Scarred Hearts  
>presents<strong>

_Making Up Time_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: When<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: If I owned Castle, there wouldn't be so many good quotes in the show. Trust me.

* * *

><p>It is Sunday morning. Oh God. It's Waffle Sunday morning.<p>

These are the first two thoughts that pass through Beckett's head. Followed closely by how warm the bed sheets are, and then the acknowledgement, again, that it is Waffle Sunday. Why had she agreed to this again?

As she showers, she wonders what she will wear. Jeans are obvious. She knows which blouses Castle likes. She really shouldn't be thinking like that. About what Castle likes about her. She'd worn that blue blouse yesterday. He hadn't taken his eyes off her for more than five minutes. Those five minutes had comprised of looking at the body and searching for evidence.

It had felt good. The control had felt _really_ good.

But control? Over Castle's eyes? A year ago, she wouldn't have even bothered. Now, it frustrates her when she couldn't find the right shirt. And today? Does she even want that control today?

Her therapists question-answers ring in her ears.

_You need to let go of your control every now and then, Kate,_ he'd say. She knows he'd say it. He certainly implied it enough.

So there isn't going to be any control. Does she trust Castle enough for that? Trust enough to keep the battering ram hidden? She wonders if he even needs a battering ram. He seems to have found the impossible. A crack.

As she ponders the questions and time passes, and waffle time comes closer, her mind turns to her original thought.

Oh. God.

* * *

><p>"Relax, dad. Your waffles are the best in the world," Alexis says. Her father is rushing all over the kitchen, a flurry of cooking and worry.<p>

"It's not the waffles I'm worried about, pumpkin," he replies, even as he decorates the cherry sauce and makes sure that all the plates are in the right place.

"Then what? You know Beckett has fun every time she comes by," Alexis asks. She is relaxing on a chair by the kitchen table, the picture of calm. Mother is nowhere to be seen.

Beckett and Christmas aren't the simplest things to put together," he replies. Alexis raises an eyebrow. This, she already knows.

"It's _just_ Waffles, Dad," she replies. Castle stops and peers at his daughter.

His eyebrows are slightly raised. His daughter is usually more perceptive. It's never _just_ anything with Kate. Especially today. Today is something. Could even be very important, not just momentous. Could be make or break.

"That, pumpkin, is exactly what it isn't," Castle replies. That is new. She doesn't have to pry the admittance from him.

"This is step one, isn't it?" she asks. He nods. Just nods. But there is a slight smile.

"You'll do fine, Richard," his mother says. She is flighting down the stairs, with an atmosphere only she can carry.

"I hope so," he murmurs. But his smile is wider. Only a little, but wider.

"Trust me. I'm the one with the most life experience," Martha says. Richard chuckles.

"I don't doubt that," he smirks. Martha brushes it off with a laugh. Alexis joins in too, because they both know all about Martha's life experience.

"Come on, Dad. Sit down. Beckett'll love it," Alexis says. In that moment, Castle discovers the words he'd use for the problem. His daughter is always good inspiration.

It isn't about she'll love _it_ or not.

* * *

><p>"Dad? You there?" she asks as the phone clicks, signalling the call being accepted.<p>

"Katie!" he exclaims. Surprise. Why is there surprise?

"No need to sound too excited," Kate says. Jim chuckles.

"You don't call often enough. Let me be excited when you do," her father replies.

Kate frowns. She remembers calling. Often. But the last time… the last time had been not long after the accident - the shooting. No accident. She doesn't call her father once a week anymore. The realisation hits her hard.

"What's going on?" Jim asks. Soft tone. She remembers that tone from her teenage years. The days she'd needed ice-cream and Temptation Lane.

"Waffle," she murmurs simply. On the other side of the line, there is a pause. Then a sigh. She thinks she hears him mutter something about knowing.

"With Rick?" he eventually replies. Her eyes widen.

_Rick?_

"How'd you know?"

"About two weeks ago, Rick came out here to talk," Jim admits. Kate's eyes are already wide. "About Christmas. And you.

"She almost drops the phone. Almost. The shock settles for her collapsing onto the sofa.

"What?" she whispers. She isn't sure her father can hear.

"He wanted to ask if I could help him to help you celebrate Christmas," he explains. She is still unresponsive. "Katie?"

"Of course he would," she murmurs. His smile, however slight, is audible.

"He cares for you, Katie," her father says. There is no hesitation. There is no reluctance. When he says it, it is plain. Plain for him; obvious. When he says it, the way he says it, it is obvious for her too. She can see it, as surely as she can see the sun. The sun. That's him. The warmth, the relaxation. The, what has become, almost palpable love. Love…

_He cares for you, Kate. You may not see it, you may not be ready to, but he cares for you._

The words are faint echoes in the corner of her mind. She sees it now. As plain as day. Castle is her sun. What he is to her, there is no rival. There is no challenge. He is warm. He is comforting. He is the thing that makes her smile when everything seems dark. He is what is always there after the storm has abated. Always there.

_Always._

"Your mother would have loved him," her father says. Her tries to sound casual. He fails. There is too much emotion in his voice. But she hears it. What he's saying. Her mother _would_ have loved him. They had the same sense of humour. But more than that… her mother would love that she… what does she to him? Love? Like?

Love. The word she wants to escape. The word she hid from for three months. She'd run from it. From him. She can see it now. She can see it all now. He _loves _her.

So what does she do to him?

It's definite. Plain as day. As sure as the sun rising; as sure as the sun after the storm and the light after the dark. As sure as always. She'd run for too long. Acceptance. That's what she feels first. And then her heart soars. Because it has to fly a long, long way. From the earth to the sun. _Her_ sun. It's definite. It's accepted. With joy.

She loves him to.

* * *

><p>He's been relaxing for a while. A five minute long year. Relaxing; and waiting for that knock. The one that just happened. One thirty, they'd agreed. It is one thirty-two. Punctual. Definitely her style.<p>

When he opens the door, she's standing there in a light-ish blue blouse, playing with her hair. Wait. Playing with her hair?

He had to stop himself from standing there trying to eat flies.

"Castle," she greets. Her hand falls to her side, and the corners of her lips tilt upward into a beautifully shy smile.

"Kate. Call me Rick today, yeah?" he replies. She gives a small nod.

"Rick. I think I can manage that," she says, trying the name out. He chuckles. Inside, he's blown away. His name on her lips is that good.

"Come on. The waffles are waiting," he says, turning sidewards so she can pass. As she does, he shuts the door and wraps one of his arms around her shoulders.

And she lets him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

So. Chapter number three. When I started writing this, I was bored out of my natural mind, and really needed a writing fix. I was a little blocked on an original story of mine, and I turned to Castle. I wrote out the chapter, and as it was going, it was too short. 800 words or so. Way to short. Even now, it's a little shorter than I'd like. But, quality of quantity.

So I chose to add the scene with Kate and Jim. It was the scene I wrote last, finished about 10 minutes before I started typing this, actually. When I started that, I didn't have really high hopes for it. It's turned out better than I thought it would. If it seems a little weird, that's because I basically went off on tangents whenever I found a good one. I quite like the one I went with in the end. What do you think?

Now, to thank reviewers and story alerters and the like. Thanks. Really, I mean it. If you story alerters could find the time to drop a review, even if it's just :) then I'd be really grateful. It's nice to know the story is being read.

And lastly, a recommendation. _Advent_ by chezchuckles. Castle story, chapter a day for Advent. Really, really good. If you've gotten around to reading this, I admire you work ethic. Really.

Thought I'd diverge a little today, with:

To the sun and the heart.


	4. 4: Who

**Scarred Hearts  
>presents<strong>

_Making Up Time_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Who<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Is this thing even really necessary? I certainly don't make any money off this…  
><strong>Slight Warning: <strong>Implied adult themes later on. No actual "adult" themes.

* * *

><p>The first thing Kate notices as Castle leads her to the table, guiding her with his arm, is Alexis. Alexis' eyes are glued to Rick and her, glued where her father's arm is. They stay glued there for a moment, before an amused grin appears in the youngest Castle's face.<p>

They sit down next to each other, drawing raised eyebrows from red-heads. Of course. They'd sat next to each other by choice. That is new. Kate normally keeps Castle as close as he can get, while still being at arms' length.

_Cracks._

"So… why are we all so quiet?" Martha asks, poking the awkward barrier of silence that accommodates playful grins and tentative hand positions.

"I've no idea, Mother. Maybe there isn't enough wine in your system yet," Castle quips. The eldest of the Castle family chuckles and takes another swig of wine from her glass.

It is now that Kate's eyes see the second thing. Only now, as she takes in what is actually on the table. Cherries. The waffle dressing. It's made of cherries. She elbows Rick lightly, drawing his gaze. Nods towards the cherries. Castle grins and winks at her. He actually winks at her.

_Oh God, Kate, what are you doing?_

"Kate, dear, how's your father?" Martha asks. And just like that, the awkwardness in the room vanishes and is replaced by laughter, conversation, and most importantly, waffles.

* * *

><p>Sometime later (Kate isn't sure when), the topic of conversation changes. It has been fun and pleasant so far. Light-hearted topics of humour, mostly coming from Rick and Martha. Alexis has given a few entertaining, and sometimes embarrassing stories as well. She's told it's the tradition. The Castle Waffle Sunday pre-Christmas tradition. But the topic has changed. To far more fragile waters.<p>

"Do you remember Mike and Laura, Richard?" Martha asks. Rick appears blank for a moment, before a comical widening of the eyes reveals the revelation in his eyes.

_Why am I watching his eyes?_

Why is she even _thinking _about any of his body parts? That is a better question.

"Mickey!" Castle exclaims. "Those two stopped dancing around each other yet?"

Kate's gaze snaps to Martha. Her nose smells a set-up.

"Mike and Laura are colleagues of mine," Martha explains for Alexis and Kate's benefit. "They've been dancing around each other, saying they're just friends, avoiding any mention of a romantic relationship… you know. For three years."

_You know?_

Kate's eyes wander back to Rick. Wider. Not quite deer-in-headlights wide, but close. His eyes find hers. His blue stays true to the colour. Relaxing. Calm. There is no panic. Kate thinks she sees some strange form of acceptance, but then, she also _thinks_ she sees the slightest hint of relief.

"Did they get together?" Alexis asks. Simple questions should always have simple answers. Unfortunately, this rule didn't seem to apply to matters of the heart.

"Yes, they did. We were all rehearsing a scene for the first time, and their characters had to kiss. The moment they did we could all tell it wasn't a rehearsal anymore," Martha says.

It doesn't escape anyone's attention that she is looking between Kate and Rick, gaze alternating, with a smirk on her face. No matter what her son said, Martha has life-experience. Love-experience, too.

"I'm afraid I've gotta run, kiddo," Martha declares abruptly, standing. The meal is almost over now. Kate glares weakly at her. Martha hadn't even given her a chance to respond. She knew how to run a set-up. Having accomplished her goal, she absconds to avoid retribution. She _is_ good.

"Say hi to Mickey and Laura for me!" Castle throws in as the door closes behind his mother. He turns to his daughter, who is also leaving the table. "Are you running away too?"

_His pout is adorable._

Wait a moment. Had she just thought something of Castle's, other than his daughter, was adorable?

"Paige's mom is going to be here any moment now. Rockefeller, remember?" Alexis asks. Castle nods. Alexis' phone clings, signalling the need for her to bolt as well.

"You're sleeping over at Paige's tonight, right?" he asks. Kate glances at him. He's grinning like a madman.

"Yeah," Alexis replies.

"Okay. Have fun!" Castle says. Kate echoes. If it wasn't so Castle, it would sound like he is _trying_ to get his daughter out of the house.

When the door closes again, leaving them alone together, Kate sighs. She should really be trying to escape as well. that's what her head tells her. Her heart seems to keep winning these arguments, though.

"So… wanna help with the dishes?" Castle asks. She laughs.

"Lead the way."

* * *

><p>"Washing dishes with you is actually kind of fun, Rick," Kate admits. He splashes her with some detergen-ated water.<p>

His dishwasher, as he has explained, is currently broken. So they have to do everything by hand. Of course, that leads to the floor being wet. He couldn't help himself. Splashing her is insanely funny. And her little squeaks when the water hits her make it even better.

As she steps to get close enough to elbow him, she slips. Castle catches her, holding her by her waist. His chest is pressed against her back; close. Really close. So close the warmth is tangible. It's… it's amazing.

_Relax, Kate. Breath. Just skin to clothes. No skin to skin. _

Pause. Her heart is pounding in her chest as Rick kisses her neck. His mouth lingers.

_Oh God._

Double thought. Same time, to different minds. She can't take it anymore. She spins so she is facing him, easy with a wet floor, and presses a kiss to his lips. Forces a kiss to his lips. Oh well. That moan definitely isn't one of complaint. It starts softer. Passion is a hard thing to overcome, though.

The kiss ends; their foreheads are touching, locked together by an unwillingness to move. She can feel his heavy breath on her lips. His hand flights to her lower back, rubs a gentle circle. She can feel it. That connection. She can feel what he feels. And she has no worries. Not now. Not here. Maybe not forever, but not now. Not here, with him, doing this.

That moment is brief. Three words echo in Kate's mind. And then the passion returns. It says with them as they stumble towards the bedroom, Castle's arms holding them steady, losing clothes on the way.

It is unnecessary to say that the fire that passion lit lingered to keep them warm through the night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

So, I'll say this. I really don't know how the rating system works, so if you have any rating recommendations based on this chapter, let me know in a review. (= shameless plug)

It's short, but I wrote and edited this entire chapter in the space of 95 minutes. On paper. And I want to end it there because I want the morning after to be in a new chapter. Beginning of a new day and all. Nice compatible symbolism with my last big Rick/Kate metaphor in this story...

I won't say read and review, because you've already read it, so I'll just ask you to review. Casually.

_To love and warmth._

ps:

Review?


	5. 5: Where

**Scarred Heart  
><strong>_Making Up Time_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5:<strong> Where  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> … yeah… 'cause this is so necessary…

* * *

><p>It is morning. Winter morning in a warm room with a warm body beside her. She doesn't need to look outside to know that Manhattan is covered in blanket of snow. The white light, reflected and coming through the window is strands, is enough. She feels his arm around her waist, the rising and falling of his chest on her cheek. He is still sleeping, she thinks. Her eyes are just ajar themselves.<p>

The room seems open. Empty of everything, despite it being full. There are discarded clothes on the floor, she remembers. She can't find it in herself to care. Yesterday, she'd asked herself if she trusted him enough to hide the battering ram, the to-some-extent unnecessary battering ram.

She probes herself gently. There is no resistance from her little wall, the one that she hides her emotions behind, so she has time to run. She should have been able to find a towering structure, with a dozen and half things inside. She finds a meagre fence, not enough to keep a goat from escaping, let alone her darkest memories. In her dark recesses, though, she finds something new. Something she had never seen before. There is sunlight. In this dark corner of her mind, there is sunlight. Her heart beats, and she can almost feel the sun beat.

She is back in the bedroom. The expansive bedroom with a beautiful bed with a wonderful mattress, with two people on it. Her. Rick. Wrapped up in each other. Warm. The smallest smile graces her face as she thinks back to last night.

She looks up. Tilts her head, hoping not to disturb his sleep.

One eye is peering at her, and the corners of his lips are tilted.

"Come here," he murmurs, whispers, mutters. All in the same voice. She couldn't imitate that tone with a thousand years practice. She can hear it. All of it. The emotion. It's all there, laid bare. And she can't stop herself.

"I love you," she whispers as he pulls her closer. She feels his kiss on her head, and the breath he lets out as he whispers.

"I know. I love you too," he replies.

"Very Hans Solo," she replies tiredly. She feels the gentle rumbling of his chest as he falls asleep again.

* * *

><p>Her eyes meander open, to the cold feeling of the bed. Her pillow has gone, as has the smile that previously lit her face. She stands, pulls on of <em>his<em> shirts on. It is lying discarded on the floor, and hers no longer has any buttons. A remnant of last night.

She pads on the balls of her feet, the floor surprisingly warm. The smell hits her before the view. Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs.

_Oh God. Is he making a royal buffet?_

She is goodly surprised she can even smell the barest trace of coffee, but it is there. She turns the last corner and her jaw promptly hits the floor. Sitting on the kitchen table is enough food to feed Zimbabwe for a year.

_And then some._

"Rick?" she probes. He is standing, finishing the coffee. A shirt and boxers. That's all. To be fair, she is technically wearing less than her -

her what?

_What _was _he? What_ is _he?_

"Kate! I was going to bring you breakfast in bed," he exclaims. All the food _is _on a tray.

"How often do you bring girls breakfast in bed?" she retorts curiously. She regrets it almost instantly. His grin fades to a barely there smile, and the playful grin dies on her face.

"Never. You're the first," he replies. She can read the tone. She uses it sometimes, not often. On the rare moments she talks about her own feelings. Seriousness tinged by the power of the heart.

Her reaction means everything to him. Her eyes widen, before she has the chance to control them.

"Uhh…" Very intelligent, Kate. Super. Brilliant, even. Einstein worthy.

"You're a special girl, Kate. One and only," he replies, without blinking or so much as glancing away from her eyes. His calm, piercing hazel eyes are the only thing her chocolate brown can see. Her breath leaves her at his admission - his _repeated _admission.

"That's right, Rick. One writer girl," a non-explicit promise. That's what it is - these words of ones and onlys. A promise of a future wrapped in a writer's tones.

So they eat breakfast. Together. Laughing half the time, grinning like lunatics the other half. They are together with a promise of always and only, and it may not be everything they want, but it is what they have. And for now, it's enough.

* * *

><p>"How could someone do something like this?" she asks. She is making an expensive latte with an expensive machine, her ability to stop herself eroded by a weary day. She knows she is not alone. She can feel him behind her, a metre away, not more, eyes burrowing into the back of her head.<p>

"I've been asking myself the same thing since this morning," he replies. She releases her coffee, turning to face him. He is closer than before, wrapping his arms around her. She allows herself to become lost in the warmth and comfort his embrace provides.

A place of escape, where she doesn't need a wall, or a guard, or any kind of protection at all. A place where she can let her tears gently roll down her cheek and onto his light blue shirt. His ability to care about her infinitely and calmly soothe her and ignore the growing wetness on his shirt in the same moment is nothing short of outstanding.

"You want to come over tonight?" he asks; hesitant and hopeful. She knows he doesn't mean to anything other than comforting. She has found that trust in him.

"I… I have to be alone tonight, Rick. I have to sort this out," she replies. They have pulled apart, and she has dried her tears.

"Christmas. Come for Christmas," he blurts; insistence is but a tiny tinge in his voice. Care is another story. She is grateful she isn't holding her coffee. She really doesn't want the burns.

"I…"

"If this case is solved. Come. Please," he isn't pouting, or begging, but she can hear the desperation. He needs her nearby, just as much as she needs him. She has been trying to deny it, valiantly. That she needs him. But she does. The admission is so pitifully simple, as if it deserves grand words of Shakespearean strength and the poetic license of two thousand year old Greek tragics. It doesn't. She needs him. He needs her. Simple. Them.

"My dad…"

"I cleared it. If you come, he'll come," he replies. She is amazed, again, at the ability of this man to go everywhere, do everything, butt into everything, and still somehow do it with the best of intentions and lead the actions to result in the best of outcomes.

"Nothing big?" she asks. Castle looks at her softly.

"Do you trust me, Kate?" he asks. Neither of them take notice of the two 'children' watching from outside the window.

"With my life," she replies. Castle's eyes don't leave her.

"With your heart?"

There is a pause. He shouldn't be asking. But he is. Asking. The one question that they'd been avoiding the whole time. Since the cemetery. Since the bullet. Since the near-death experience. There is this question, lingering in the back of their minds, causing havoc on what they feel and who they are. This question that defines the awkwardness that rarely settles between them. And it is this question, this question that Rick definitively answered in that cemetery, that he is now asking her.

"With everything," Kate says simply.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>**AN:**

****Firstly, I want to apologise for the delay. I haven't posted in a week because, quite frankly, it's been a really bad week for me. It starts off with my friend becoming really sick, and me going to help her out. It continues with me becoming really sick, and finishes, quite nicely, with a mad rush to have some semblance of Christmas tomorrow, as I am uploading this on Christmas Eve.

Secondly, I want to say that the next chapter will be the epilogue. I was originally going to write Christmas with Castles as a chapter, but have since decided that I don't want to, and that any plots I could tie up there, I will tie up elsewhere.

To those of you who I told there would be a confrontation between Kate and Lanie, don't worry. I hold to my word, and I said there would be, so there will be. It's coming in the epilogue.

I will post the epilogue sometime between Christmas and New Year's Eve.

This chapter wasn't the best, and it could have been done better. If, one day, I re-write and properly edit this story, it will be the first thing I change. I want to talk a little about it, and the story in general. I wrote this story without any kind of plan, going in. I made it up as I went along, and it obviously shows. Normally, I like to plan things, but I threw a little control here, and I came up with this. I like this story, more for the words I used than the events that take place, although they are also pretty interesting.

Thanks to all of you who reviewed and story alerted and favourited this story. It means a lot to me that this story was read.


	6. Epilogue

**Scarred Heart presents  
>Making Up Time<strong>

**Epilogue**

* * *

><p>"Kate!" he says. She is coming. She always comes. She came last year, she'll come this year. There is a party passing them by, as they glance into each other's eyes every second moment. There is champagne being drunk, and people being drunk. Not too many. Rick suspects it has something to do with his mother being there.<p>

"Come with me," she replies. She is pulling him by his wrist, playful pull. Pulling them towards their own little balcony. They were there last New Year's Eve, making out like teenagers. She thanks God every day that they managed to get their hormones into control eventually.

They are there. Standing there, under the moonlight, they day before the new year, with a year behind them.

"You've been waiting to get me alone all night, Rick. What are you hiding?" she asks. He thinks about making a crude remark. That thought is squashed by her raised eyebrow, and the curiosity in her eyes. He can't deny her. Really.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says. "I had it all planned out."

She cocks her head, her expression unchanged.

"Kate, this year… it's been amazing. We've had some tough times. For sure. We caught him, Kate. We caught him, but all I could think about the whole time was you, and how it was affecting you," he says. He begins. He can see her running onto the proverbial road, and the headlights are definitely coming. He takes her hands, encloses them in his own.

"Last year, today. I made you a promise. Remember?" he asks. He is soft. Voice, hands.

"Forever and always. You said you were my speechless author. Forever and always," Kate says. The words are more breath than speech.

"I meant that. And I'm a man of my words," Rick says. And without another word, or any hesitation, he drops her hands, letting them fall to her side, and even as her lips part in shock, he sinks to one knee, and withdraws a small, blue box.

"I thought about what to say here for months. I thought about grandiose words and beautiful imagery. And then I realised something. We don't say it. We never say it," he says, taking one of her hands into one of his, and drawing her hand to the box.

"But it's true. You're you, I'm me, and we're us. And that's all we've ever needed, and that's all I'll ever need. I was going to tell you how wonderful, kind and beautiful you are, but there aren't words. I'll stick to my original extraordinary," he says. Rick uses her hand to open the box that will change their lives, even as he asks the question that she will never forget.

"So, Katherine Beckett, will you be mine forever and always?"

He's repeating words. He never repeats words. Well, almost never. Always was a word he repeated more often than _I love you_, concerning her.

Her brown eyes are wide, and staring straight into his. They are seeing each other's souls. His hand is holding hers, keeping it on the back of the blue box. She sees it now. The ring. Simple, and diamond, it is almost a replica of the ring she no longer wears around her neck.

And then she sinks to her knees, and their eyes are level, and all the emotion that flows between them is almost palpable in the night air. She says one word, because all they've ever needed is one word. Normally, that word is always. Here and now, that word is something different, but something equally as important.

"Yes."

And even as they kiss, a coroner is refraining from cheering in the onlooking crowd. She doesn't want to incur Beckett's wrath a second time, after all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

The story is over. Yay. Finished. Finally. I have a few things to say to a few people, and then even the AN will be over.

To some people, I said there would be a confrontation between Beckett and Lanie. I referenced it in the last line, of course, but I couldn't find a place for the whole thing in this story. I didn't want it in this epilogue, for sure, and I just couldn't find a place for it in any of the other chapters, to tell you the truth. I didn't feel like it would work in any of them. So, apologies.

To those of you who were hoping to read the Castle Christmas event, apologies. I didn't really feel like including it in this story, and I'm glad it ended this way.

To the large number of you who have added this story to your story alert list, or favourite story list, I thank you for coming and enjoying this story. It would make my day if some of you reviewed this last chapter.

To those of you that have reviewed, thanks for that. I don't know how many of you have stories here of your own, but to those of you who do, you know that reviews are appreciated. To those of you don't, we writers like to hear things about our work.

Reviews, good, bad and constructive are always appreciated.

Happy slightly belated Christmas to all of you reading this!

and

Happy New Year to all of you!

I wish all of you the best of luck in your new year, and hope that I'll see some of you again for me next story, which will be coming during January.


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